


a good (birthday) egg

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: When you're the world's only consulting detective, it's easy to lose track of time. And the day. And the month.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 38
Kudos: 97
Collections: Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection





	a good (birthday) egg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> Happy birthday, MerindaB! 🎉
> 
> Just a little fluff and humour for you today. Also, a meme reference in the form of: “can I offer you a nice egg in this trying time?” 🥚

Surfacing from a 36-hour long nap after the end of a trying case, Sherlock slinks into the kitchen. The flat is quiet. John likely has gone off to work. Sherlock stumbles his way through the rituals of tea and toast, bleary-eyed and slow. 

He is halfway through a mouthful of burnt toast and raspberry jam when something rises to the forefront of his thoughts. Today… today is a holiday, isn’t it? Some kind of special… something. Anniversary? No, that’s not quite right.  Christmas? Sherlock glances out the window. He doesn’t see anything that looks like holiday cheer and frowns. No, not that one. What month is it? February? January? Maybe April?  April. That sounds right. Isn’t John’s birthday in April? Sherlock’s eyes slide to the desk before he recalls that he accidentally set fire to their only calendar last week. His phone is in the bedroom, but there’s simply no time.   


A birthday gift. Sherlock needs a birthday gift.   


He dresses quickly, leaving the flat in a whirlwind as he sets off on a desperate pilgrimage for the perfect gift. It’s a wild search, Sherlock swirling through shops. Everything is pink and red today — what’s so pink and red about April? There are flowers and boxes of chocolate and, inexplicably, candy bunnies and eggs.  The eggs make no sense, but maybe it’s an April thing. There is little time for Sherlock to ponder the inanity of holiday-based gifts. 

He snatches up an ornately painted chocolate egg and races home. John is fresh from the shower, gripping a heart-shaped box in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He looks sharp in a dark blue button-up and well-worn jeans, and Sherlock skids to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Stunned by the sight of him, Sherlock grips his own box — small and black with a bright red satin bow — and stares up at John. 

“Why are you holding wine, and what I can only assume is a box of chocolates?” he asks dumbly, eyeing the box. “Very expensive chocolates, at that.” 

John raises an eyebrow. “Well. They’re for you,” he says this like it’s obvious. 

Sherlock disagrees. It’s not obvious, not at all. At least, it’s not obvious to _him._ “But,” he sputters, frowning as John trots down the stairs to meet him in the entryway, “it’s your birthday. Why would you get _me_ a gift on _your_ birthday?”

A confused expression slips over John’s face. It lingers and fades into a hesitant smile. “Sherlock,” he asks, watching Sherlock closely, “what month is it?”   


Bemused by the question — doesn’t John know his own birthday month? — Sherlock cautiously replies, “April.” 

_“When_ in April?” John asks, lips curling in a slow, amused smile.   


Clearly, there’s a joke here. One that Sherlock is missing. His frown deepens. “No idea,” he replies before thrusting his gift into John’s chest. “Happy Birthday, all the same. Belated or otherwise.” 

John takes the box in hand with a twinkle in his eye. “Sherlock, it’s February.”   


Blinking, Sherlock squints at the bottle of wine and the fancy chocolates. “Ah,” he says under his breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Is it?”   


John, still grinning, nods. “It really is.” 

“Right. And what day?”   


“The fourteenth.”   


“Oh.” Sherlock clears his throat, refusing to feel embarrassed. “I knew that,” he says in an imperious tone that doesn’t sound at all convincing. “Of course I did. I was testing you. Happy Valentine’s Day, John.”   


“Of course,” John says with a smile softening the words. He hands Sherlock the chocolates and wiggles the wine bottle. “Care to join me upstairs?”  


Sherlock nods and follows John up to their flat. “Open your gift before the wine,” he orders, to John’s quiet chuckle.

A few moments later, reaching down the stairs through the open door of 221B, John can be heard asking, “Sherlock… why did you get me a chocolate egg if you thought it was my birthday?”

Flustered and defensive, Sherlock replies, “My motives are secret and none of your business, my dear John.” 

Just before the door closes and muffles their voices, there is the sound of a soft, amused snort. 


End file.
